


I Was a (Not-So) Teenage Spaceport Floozy

by Anonymous



Series: Poe Dameron: Purple Prose Connoisseur [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Aphrodisiacs, Drugs, Gangbang, Multi, Other, Poe is the galaxy's biggest slut, Poe's bad taste therein, Porn, Virginity Kink, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 14:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6082860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A routine supply run goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Life isn’t like a holovid, Poe,” his mother had once said to him.

She’d meant that he shouldn’t expect his crush to like him back. He’d been fourteen, and Sana was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. “Her hair is like Sillestrian silk,” he’d said to his best friend, Gar, and followed that puerile statement up with a long drag on the joint they were sharing.

“She’s okay,” Gar said. Then he asked her out.

Poe waited after school.

“You were too much of a pussy to make a move.” Gar said, looking up at Poe. He had dirt on his cheek and blood in his teeth.

Poe punched him a couple more times for good measure. “I am never speaking to you again,” he said.

Two weeks later, Sana dumped Gar for a guy two years ahead of them, Gar showed up with a bag of Yavin Red Tip, and Poe got his first blowjob. So, actually, his life was a lot like a holovid if you had a complete run of _Straight Studs Turned Gay_ volumes one through twenty-six. Those were probably not the holos Mom had meant.

Poe ran a finger over the scar on his palm. Blood brothers. It had been the most romantic thing he’d ever imagined at the time. Stupid teenagers! His tablet had dimmed the screen while he ruminated. Poe swiped it back on. “Pounded in the Butt by a Hutt” was blazoned across a picture of a teenage human male caught in the slimy embrace of a Hutt. Smaller print across the kid’s legs read: “I was a Teenage Spaceport Floozy.” Pale and gangly with curly dark hair, the kid could have passed for a teenage Poe. Gar had given him a copy as a joke before he’d shipped out the first time. Poe smiled fondly. He hadn’t thought about Gar in years.

> The monstrous Hutt oozed fluid against my bare skin. My head got foggy. “You drugged me,” I cried! “I, Pax Artos, son of—“
> 
> “Silence, delicious boy,” the Hutt replied. “You are mine to do with as I please.”
> 
> I quivered with horror.
> 
> “No one knows where you are now,” said the Hutt. It ran its repulsive tongue up the inside of my thighs, coating them with gooey spittle. Higher, higher.
> 
> I struggled, but the drug sapped my strength. There would be no escape from the Hutt’s depravity. It parted my cheeks—

“Hey, Poe!”

The tablet crashed to the desk. “Oh, uh. Hi Finn.”

Finn stuck his head around the doorway. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” His smile was blinding.

“Well, you found me.” Poe shoved the tablet under a pile of unfinished reports and crossed his legs. He could have sworn the door was locked. Poe scanned his quarters; BB-8 was suspiciously absent.

“I heard you were going on a supply run.” Finn’s voice went up at the end like it was a question.

“Tomorrow, yeah. Want me to bring you something?”

“I was wondering… um…” Finn bit his lip.

His mouth was shiny and pink; his teeth were very white. Poe shifted in his chair. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Could I… come?”

“On a supply run?”

Finn’s fingers worried at his jacket cuffs. “The docs cleared me. I’m okay to work, but there’s nothing for me to _do_.”

“It’ll be boring.” And involve way too much proximity, not to mention Finn cramping his style if he went looking for a little fun while he was off base. It was mostly a supply run, but he’d sniff around for information, just like always. Bremelan was full of low-lifes who were sure to have something juicy to pass on. A sweet kid like Finn didn’t belong around those scum. _Somebody’s got it bad_ a voice said in his head. It sounded a lot like a drunk Jessika Pava.

“I’m going crazy being stuck here, man. You gotta take me, Poe. Please.”

Finn’s begging face was adorable. Poe’s stupid mouth opened and said: “Sure, why not?”

“It’s a date!” Finn turned to go. Poe’s jacket hugged his broad shoulders, and those new pants were nice. Especially from the back.

_Fuck._

Poe dropped his head into his hands. How an escapee from the First Order could be that kind, cheerful, and disturbingly wholesome was beyond Poe. Finn was never, ever going to find out about the stormtrooper gangbang holos circulating in the Resistance, and if anybody showed him one, they would answer to Poe. There were a whole lot of things nobody was going to do without answering to Poe.

Rey had better come back soon. There was only so much of Finn’s smile and lack of personal space Poe could stand, and that damned Jessika Pava kept asking him if Finn was on the market or not—like she didn’t know she was no more suitable for Finn than he was. He was a _nice_ kid. Sheltered. Kind of. Well, in a creepy stormtrooper way. The point was, Finn was clueless. He was so excited over his new life. He looked at Poe like he was every hero out of a holovid rolled together and talked like the Resistance was the single most noble cause in human history. It was sweet. He’d grow out of it, but he was still adjusting. The last thing he needed was for someone to go and make things _weird_. Someone like Poe. Or Jessika. Or any of Poe’s other friends, acquaintances, lovers, and associates.

Overprotective father was not a role Poe played well.

Though there had been this one woman on Takodana with big eyes and the filthiest mind… _Not thinking about it!_ he told himself firmly.

—

“What’s a twisted nipple?” Finn asked.

“Well…” said Jocelyn. Her hand snaked across the table.

Poe slapped it down before it could reach Finn. “It’s a drink, Finn. Local specialty.”

“Really?” Finn looked skeptical. “This isn’t one of those things where I repeat something later and everyone laughs their asses off, right?”

“What? No. Of course not. Wait—“

“Does that happen often?” Jocelyn asked.

She was a human woman, taller than Poe, with short red hair hacked off at haphazard lengths. She wore a half dozen layers of skirts and shawls and a black eyepatch that made her look like a villain. The hair was different: last time Poe had seen her, it had cascaded to the small of her back. The eye patch was old; he doubted she needed it any more now than she had then.

“Pretty often,” Finn said. “Yesterday, I was talking to one of the other pilots and—“

The bartender plunked three glasses in front of them. Layers of red liquid moved sluggishly inside. A trail of pink vapor rose from the surface. A “Twisted Nipple”. Poe wouldn’t have called it a local specialty normally: more like “Poe and Jocelyn’s R&R: The Part We Can’t Remember”. Supposedly, she’d concocted the drink and he’d bestowed the moniker three days into a bender that had ended with them hiding in the Bremelan slums puking their guts out in a bucket while the port authorities scoured the city for them. It had been years, and the hangover had been spectacular. The trouble had blown over; the drink stayed.

“To Poe’s new friend,” Jocelyn said, knocking hers back.

Finn coughed. “Wow… it’s… um… strong.”

“That’s enough.” Poe snagged the drink. “You don’t have to finish it. We should be going anyway.”

Jocelyn smirked. “Uh huh. You just don’t want me to tell your boyfriend about all the trouble we used to get into.”

“We’re not—“ Poe said at the same time Finn opened his mouth to deny it.

Jocelyn cackled. “Then you won’t mind me telling him about the time we—“

“So much to do,” Poe said. “You know how it is: Duty calls!” He had a terrible feeling it was the story about the strip club. False eyelashes and pole dancing did not go with noble resistance pilots nobly fighting the good fight. At least they didn’t need to go with resistance pilots anywhere Finn could hear about it. Especially not if those resistance pilots were Poe and the story involved a sprained ankle and Jocelyn laughing hysterically while the port authorities stormed the building. Poe was reminded again why he didn’t usually bring witnesses—company, that is, why he didn’t bring _company_ along to Bremelan.

“Hold up, flyboy. I’ve got a tip for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Somebody’s set up shop in our old stomping grounds. You remember our romantic getaway?”

Finn looked interested. Poe ignored his raised eyebrows. “Vividly,” he said. Two days of puking in a bucket and swearing at the broken fresher: Yeah, Poe remembered all right.

“One of the warehouses down there is getting traffic at night. Big, sparkly playthings-level traffic if you get my meaning. Maybe you can pick up a few souvenirs for your Resistance buddies.”

“You’ve seen the goods?” They could always use more weapons—especially the untraceable kind they didn’t have to pay or trade for.

“No, just the traffic, but what else would it be in that neighborhood at that hour? It’s not on the port manifestos; I checked.”

—

“Freeze!”

Poe sighed and raised his hands. He should have known better than to trust a tip from Jocelyn. Not that she’d sell him out—probably—but things somehow just _happened_ around her. Usually to Poe. At least Finn was back at the ship… Only he wasn’t.

He was pinned between two burly Gamorrean guards. A third one trained a nasty-looking blaster on Poe.

“Hey,” Finn said weakly.

The guards marched them through the warehouse, two more joining them on either side of Poe. Even if he could have overpowered two Gamorreans by himself, even if he were willing to risk Finn getting shot, there was nowhere to go: Crates towered around them. Poe got a look at the stamps as he was dragged past: cheap, innocuous foodstuffs. Jocelyn had been right about that much: somebody was smuggling and on a large scale.

The crates were stacked twelve feet high with only narrow paths between them. A door at the far end of the warehouse led to stairs. They were going to the basement, Poe realized. That wasn’t good.

The warehouse contained at least three subterranean levels. The guards forced him through a door into a dimly lit corridor. It was lined with doors—cells, he thought at first, but the glimpses he caught of the interiors were wrong for that. Bright colors. A large bed. A room lined with mirrors. All stood empty. The only sound was their own feet and Finn’s panicked breath behind him. _Hang in there, buddy,_ he thought. He’d get Finn out of here—somehow.

The guards shoved them into one of the rooms and flung them down on the bed. Poe caught himself awkwardly on his manacled hands.

The lead guard grunted something in the guttural Gamorrean language.

Poe struggled upright on the bed. “Sorry. I don’t speak pig.”

The guard sneered and thrust a flask at him.

“For me? Aww, you shouldn’t have.” He waved it away.

The guard grunted at him again.

“No, really, I’m good.”

The guards disagreed.

“Okay, fine, I guess I’ll—“ He spluttered as they poured the stuff down his throat. It was some kind of booze. It burned like fire. It had nothing on a Twisted Nipple. Poe opened his throat and drank.

The guards left.

“Are you okay?”

Poe looked over. Finn’s eyes showed white all the way around. “Tasted like liquor,” Poe said. “If they wanted to kill me, they wouldn’t do it like that... You shouldn’t have followed me.”

Finn shrugged. He looked nether sorry nor reassured. “What is this place?” he asked.

The bed they were sitting on was just a bare mattress covered in suspicious stains. It sat on a low platform. Metal rings stuck out of the corners. Metal rings about where a man’s wrists and ankles would be if her were spread-eagle.

“I didn’t see any weapons,” Finn said. He was looking around the room too.

“Jocelyn might have gotten that part wrong,” Poe said. The room smelled stale. The mattress reeked of sweat and blood. But not just sweat and blood. Semen. _Sex._ A quiet heat settled in his belly.

“What is this place?”

“A prison, I guess,” Poe said.

“It doesn’t look like a prison.” 

Poe examined the manacles. They’d be tough to remove even with the right tools.

Getting out was priority number one. Getting Finn out of here. He banged the cuffs agains the bed frame. Useless. The metal rings were screwed into the frame, a portion of the screw threads protruding above it. Poe tried sawing at the cuffs with that. It did no good, of course.

“Is that for tying people down?” Finn asked. “Poe?”

“Probably.”

“For interrogation?”

“Something like that.” He felt Finn’s hand on his shoulder.

“Meaning ‘No’,” Finn said.

Finn’s hand was warm through his shirt. Poe could feel his adrenaline spiking. Not a good thing. How long before he crashed? How long before the guards came back.

“Is this a sex thing?” Finn asked.

Poe’s head whipped around so fast he nearly wrenched his neck.

“It looks like some of the officers’ quarters,” Finn said. “You know, before.”

Oh god. “Finn…” He wasn’t sure how to end that sentence. The cold horror spreading through his mind warred with the warmth in his body. Maybe the flask had been Twisted Nipple strength after all; Poe’s skin felt itchy and tight.

“I’ve never actually… um… At least not like that.” The blush was obvious even on Finn’s dark skin. “But I saw their quarters sometimes…”

 _Fuck._ “It’s okay, buddy,” Poe said. _Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it._ He was thinking about it.

The opening of _I Lost My Cherry to a Flyboy_ flashed through his head. _Opening_ , heh. No, no, this was serious. Not the time. Not the time at all. But his brain wouldn’t stop.

Poe was going to blame the Twisted Nipples for this entire episode. He was never drinking novelty cocktails again. Never. Poe’s head was killing him. He was obviously getting old. Today, he couldn’t hold his liquor; tomorrow his hair would be falling out and he wouldn’t be able to get it up for even his favorite holos. Like that one in the obviously-fake X-wing cockpit. That was a great holo… That he was not thinking about right now.

Poe stared very hard at the nice, boring wall. Finn really didn’t need to know how many pornvid actors looked just like him. Especially his abs. Finn had amazing abs. _Damn it, Dameron._

“I’m going to distract them,” Poe said, still staring at the wall. “When you can, sneak out. Find the Portmaster’s office.”

“ _What?_ ”

“They’ve got security to break up brawls and deal with people who don’t want to pay up. This outfit isn’t paying taxes on whatever’s going on down here: trust me, they’ll be interested.”

“That’s not what—“ Finn clapped a hand on his shoulder. His other hand came with it, still in the cuffs. “I’m not leaving you here.”

“I’m not going to be much good in a fight right now.”

“We’ll both go.”

The guards came back before he could answer.

—

The room at the end of the corridor was larger. It was set up for gambling, but the tables were dusty and empty. A few chairs were pushed haphazardly along the walls. Nobody had been running games here in a while, Poe concluded.

Lights shone at the far end, silhouetting a figure in black. The guards marched them over to him. He was a human. A tall, thin man like a dried out stick, and mean, if Poe was any judge. It appeared they’d found the boss.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Poe said. A guard hit him in the back of the knees and he went down.

“Feisty,” the leader said. “I like that.”

Poe had a sudden sense of deja vu. This place didn’t just look like what he thought it was: the dialogue was equally stereotypical.

“Who are you?” Finn asked, interrupting Poe’s train of thought.

The leader grabbed Finn’s chin, turned his head from side to side. “Pretty,” he said. “Young. Where did you find them?” He repeated it for the guards, in their own language. Poe wondered how much Basic they understood.

“So… you came to us,” said the leader. “Convenient. And your relation to one another?”

“Buddy, if you think we’re related, you need your eyes checked,” Poe told him. His tongue was sluggish, the words less crisp than he’d meant.

“Hmm… And what say you?” The man turned to Finn.

Finn looked confused.

It was a good look on him. (Every look was a good look on him.) He seemed younger—even younger. Poe would have bought that he really didn’t know where he was, what he’d stumbled into. For arms dealers, that would have been great. Under the present circumstances…

Poe laughed. “Stupid little punk doesn’t know smugglers when he sees them.”

“Smugglers?”

“Yeah. Weapons, right? I can help you move them. Better than whoever you’ve got now.”

“How generous.” The leader’s attention was back on him. “You wish to work for me?”

Poe shrugged. “I’m more of a contractor than an employee, per se, but maybe we can work something out.”

The man’s eyes flickered to Finn.

“I’m good. No, I’m the best! I can fly anything anywhere—you got transportation, I’ll do it twice as fast. I can outrun anybody.”

“You know, I almost believe you.” He motioned to the guards.

Poe rubbed his wrists. One set of manacles down, one to go.

“Tell me about yourself, Mr…?”

“Pax Artos,” Poe said. He’d just have to hope the guy didn’t have a taste for trashy literature.

“Well, Mr. Artos, I do have a job for you, but first, a trial run.”

“Yeah?” Poe tried to inject it with the right amount of cocky bravery. It was tough: The headache was going away. Now, he just felt woozy and hot all over.

“I have a manufacturing problem.”

“Not really my department.”

The leader smiled. Something in Poe’s stomach curled up and died. “You’ll be a natural,” the man said. “Have a drink first.”

The guards offered him another flask. It was the same nasty stuff as before. It burned going down, and he felt hotter than ever.

“Good,” said the leader. “Now, as for you…”

Finn froze in place.

Finn hadn’t even tried to sneak away while Poe had been talking. Though maybe it wouldn’t have done any good with all the guards. Another one had come in, Poe saw, a tall column of matte blue hide with flipper things all over it. At least he figured it had to be a guard: it was wearing a blaster belt like the Gamorreans. Poe was going to shoot many, many people when he got his hands on one.

“Give me the spreader.” The leader motioned to the blue thing. It undulated forward to hand him—

—oh good god. Poe had seen them before, but only in holos, never up close and personal like this. They shoved it in Finn’s mouth, like the bit on a bridle—Poe’s brain took a detour through some riding metaphors. He felt feverish. This was Finn. He had to focus on that. Finn who was looking at him in wide-eyed terror with that _thing_ in his mouth. His perfect pink lips stretched taught around the rubber ring, and the straps bisected his face, holding the gag in place. Poe was going to be sick.

“You’ve got the idea already,” the leader said, gesturing.

The loose weave of Poe’s pants pressed tight over his cock. Finn had noticed too. His wide eyes flickered up to Poe’s face and back to his crotch. Terror wasn’t a look Poe had ever wanted to see on Finn’s face—not on _Finn_. He was a kid and Poe’s responsibility and sweet and _a kid_. He’d probably never touched a dick besides his own. Had he even seen one? Did the First Order have porn at all? Did storm troopers even jerk off? Poe’s dick twitched.

“I fly things,” Poe said. “I’m a pilot.”

“Tonight, you work the manufacturing end. Then we talk distribution.”

“I like my whores younger.” Poe’s brain felt like soup. “And female.”

“He’s the youngest we’ve had in months,” the leader said. “Kidnapping children makes people suspicious. Suspicion is bad for business. Besides, with the amount of joy juice in your system, you’ll like anyone.” The Gamorreans and the blue thing just stood there.

Joy juice—not Poe’s favorite. He didn’t need the help. He crossed to where Finn knelt. The gag kept him open nice and wide. That was good. He’d need all the help he could get. Poe wasn’t—he wasn’t the right guy for anyone’s first time. “You ever suck a cock before?”

Finn made a choking noise as he tried to talk around the gag. He wheezed and finally shook his head.

A spike of arousal shot up Poe’s spine. That was another reason he hated joy juice: Finn was going to cry and maybe puke on him, and he was going to enjoy every second of it. In vino veritas. “Open wide,” he said.

The leader laughed. That was good. Poe was a funny, funny guy.

Finn’s mouth was warm and wet and the ring was like a vise. He was biting down: Finn was trying to close his mouth, and it wasn’t working. Poe’s last few functioning brain cells shut off. 

“That’s right: Make him gag.”

Poe grunted theatrically. _That’s right, assholes, watch the noisy guy._

Tears glittered in Finn’s eyelashes. He had the most amazing eyelashes. Poe couldn’t really see his expression from this angle, but he could see those. Beautiful Finn who’d rescued him because it was the right thing to do, Finn who’d stood up to the First Order, on his knees in a filthy basement, gagging, forced to take anything they chose to do to him. It was the more erotic and more repulsive than anything Poe had ever imagined.

Finn choked on his come.

Poe’s brain crawled back into his head. The lust was still there, but he could think a little. Finn was still huddled at his feet, coughing and wheezing; Poe felt his dick getting hard again. Fucking aphrodisiacs!

He’d told Finn to run when he got the chance: at this rate, that chance was never going to come, not without some kind of distraction. “You got a pussy for me to fuck next?” Poe asked. “Not that he isn’t a good little bitch, but he’s not really my type.”

Finn gave another phlegmy cough.

“Not good enough for you?” the leader asked. There was a nasty undercurrent to it. Just like Poe knew there’d be.

Poe shrugged. “I could go for something different.”

The leader smiled. “Excellent.” He motioned to the Gamorreans. Instead of leaving the room, they reached for their belts. Then they reached for him.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” Poe asked, backing away.

“You wanted something different,” the leader said sweetly.

“Oh no. You’re not doing this.”

“No?”

“I’m _normal_ ,” Poe said. He let his voice rise hysterically. There wasn’t anywhere to go, really, but as long as their eyes were over here, they weren’t anywhere else.

The guards made a grab for him.

“I don’t bend over for anybody,” Poe shouted. He got one of them in the nose. His knuckles were going to hurt later, but the little asshole stumbled backwards clutching his face. Nobody was paying attention to Finn.

They slammed Poe down, face first, on one of the gambling tables that littered the room. He narrowly avoided breaking his own nose.

“Get that camera over here!” the boss bellowed. “Don’t damage the merchandise! Humans like ‘em pretty.” He yelled something in Gamorrean.

“You sell this shit to _humans_?” Finn’s voice was outraged.

 _Shut up, Finn,_ he thought. God, just when he’d gotten them good and distracted. “You sick fucks.” Poe spat. “You’re freaks, all of you.”

It was a big camera, about the size of his fist—professional grade. None of this vacation holos shit. They must have a serious business going, what with the crates upstairs. The camera was pointed at his face though. Poe twisted his head around. Sure enough, they had two more, covering him from all angles. Maybe one of them was for closeups? When you’d watched as many hours of guys bent over furniture as Poe had, you wondered about these things. The Jarong table was a new touch. His skin would stand out against the red felt. And it had that whole selling your ass for your gambling debts vibe.

Come to think of it, that was the setup to _Pounded in the Butt by the Hutt_ : Pax Artos’ father’s gambling debts. Poe really hoped there weren’t any Hutts around: that book was not at all anatomically plausible. He’d looked it up.

“What, none of your species have any women?” Poe taunted them. He was a couple of doses of joy juice away from being sensible, and he was going to stay the center of attention as long as he possibly could. “Or are they just too ugly for—“

The blue thing slapped an appendage over his mouth. What the hell species was it? Poe had never seen anything like it before. It stood about as tall as a human man with dozens of flippers coming off of it at different angles. Now, he realized they were more like arms. The flipper thing covered his face, turning the room into a shadowy blue blur. Poe tried to spit it out, but the thing seemed to have sealed itself over his mouth. After a second, it released. Poe sucked in a breath. The appendages changed shape, extending and lengthening when the creature wanted to manipulate something nearby. He panted and watched the flipper return to its original shape. It was a kind of matte dark blue in that state, but the membrane on his face had been light blue and translucent. Poe had personal experience of a long and growing list of species, but this was a new one.

“Behave,” the leader told him.

“Fuck you.”

“Since you’ve injured one of my men, I think I’ll give him first crack at you. Tell me, are you a virgin.”

Poe scoffed. “Not since I was fourteen, you crazy fuck. I’ve had more women than you’ve had—“

“I meant here.” A finger trailed down Poe’s back to rest on the cleft of his ass.

Poe clenched. He thought of Kylo Ren invading his mind, his mother’s death. Gar, the book he’d been reading with all of the improbable Hutt anatomy. (Poe really, really hated joy juice.) Finn’s eyelashes—No! The rotting leftovers he’d found under the bed last time a mission took him off base for more than a week. He recalled the smell, held it in his mind.

“That’s what I thought.” The leader chuckled. “What a wonderful find you are, Mr. Artos. You’re going to make me a very rich man.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Gamorrean with the bleeding nose leered at him. Of course, those guys had faces that were stuck in a permanent leer/grimace. Maybe it would be more accurate to say he got up on the table, stuck his ugly, tusked pigface in Poe’s, and grunted at him.

Poe flinched. Ugh, that breath. “What do you know: you guys smell as bad as you look.”

The Gamorrean slapped him. It grunted something else.

“He says he’s going to give you a better use for that mouth,” the leader translated.

And here Poe had thought it would be something about tight virgins and being ruined for other men… if Gamorreans counted as men. He actually wasn’t sure if they _were_ a sexually dimorphic species at all. They were what you might call a specialty interest in holos. Poe had only managed to collect a couple.

The guard pulled aside his filthy loincloth. Poe was eye-to-eye with one of the weirder cocks he’d encountered. So the holos hadn’t lied: Gamorreans were slender, the size of a finger or two, with a funny spiral tip like a screw.

A _screw_. Har. Poe told his brain to shut up. Laughing at a guy’s dick never went well.

A macho guy like Mr. Artos would never go along quietly, but the guard made quick work of Poe’s resistance, forcing his skinny little dick past Poe’s lips and down his throat. It tickled, and the Gamorrean reeked. Even the joy juice couldn’t disguise that.

“Make sure you get his facial expression,” the leader said.

Oh brother. At least he wouldn’t have to fake being grossed out. The stench was awful.

The guard yanked on his hair, forcing him up and down in a choking rhythm. It was a terrible angle for sucking cock with Poe hanging half off the table and the guard kneeling in front of him. Maybe the light was good. The cameras were certainly getting an eyeful. He could see the leader behind one of them. He thought the blue thing might be operating another. Somebody had a hand on the small of his back, pressing him into the table.

He couldn’t help the guard along. Mr. Artos wouldn’t know what to do with an alien cock even if he’d been willing. Poe just thrashed and gagged and waited for him to finish. Finally, the guard let out an especially hard bellow and yanked on his hair. (Rude!) The thin cock vibrated in his mouth; Finn felt the telltale jerk of ejaculation. And felt it. And felt it.

“Ah, Mr. Artos,” said the boss as Poe struggled, the guard’s hands still buried in his hair. “I see you are unfamiliar with my associates’ unique properties.”

Poe tried to breathe through his nose. The key was not to panic. The cock in his throat just kept going.

“Gamorreans produce rather more ejaculate than a human.”

As if Poe couldn’t tell with the stuff flowing down his throat! The guard was still going, his cock jerking spasmodically.

“A fascinating biological adaptation, really. First, there is the pre-sperm fraction, consisting of a thin, watery fluid. This flushes the area. Then comes the sperm-rich fraction, which is a thick, white ejaculate more like that of a human.”

It certainly didn’t taste like that of a human. It was bitter and, frankly, totally disgusting. Definitely thicker though. Poe tried not to gag. He hoped he’d broken the guard’s snout real good. Maybe he’d shoot him a few times extra when he got loose. _Ew, ew, ew._ Wasn’t he ever going to finish?

“Then a third phase of lower sperm count, grayish in color.”

The guy sounded like he was reading from a textbook on animal husbandry. Poe had jerked off a few animals back on Yavin 4 before he’d escaped farming for good. Today, he felt more like the collection machine than the farmer—he was just an apparatus passively waiting for a line of bull animals. The collection jar must be getting full. It would serve them right if Poe ended up puking come all over them. He’d had lost track of time. It felt like minutes, but that couldn’t be right.

One of the cameras was up in his face. When had it moved? They were filming his neck, he realized, where it pulsed and vibrated with the ejaculation. These little guys could really go. Poe was impressed. Weird that there weren’t more holos of them: the taste wasn’t _that_ bad once you got used to it. And that stamina was positively _theatrical_.

“The fourth phase is a clear gel,” the leader said, now somewhere on his other side. The cameras must have exchanged position. “It contains no sperm cells itself. The physiological purpose is to trap sperm within the mate, ensuring conception, but the most distinctive aspect is volume.”

Poe swallowed. The Gamorrean’s spunk was getting thick again. He couldn’t feel it that well with the guard’s cock stuck that far down his throat, but it _seemed_ thicker.

“Approximately the volume of an average glass of beer, Mr. Artos.” The leader purred directly into his ear. “As you can imagine, the process may take some time. Ten minutes. Twenty. More, for my associates when they’re having a good day. They are well-trained after all.”

 _Holy shit._ Poe swallowed more of the viscous fluid. He’d counted at least five of the guys. Five glasses of beer was—well, really, five glasses was what any pilot worth his salt would have put away at the first bar, but the filth flowing down his throat felt gummy and thick. He wasn’t just going to piss it all out before bar number two. Poe made a token effort to jerk his head away. It was no use.

“Now, now.” The leader stroked a finger down his throat. “You don’t want to waste any. You’ll insult my guards. They’re very proud of their abilities.”

Poe groaned. The come just kept pouring into him. The cameras backed off and left him to it.

Finally, with a last jerk, the guard pulled free, splashing Poe across the face with a last spurt. The cameras swooped in. Poe tried to think about something suitably horrible that didn’t involve calculating the volume of standard bar glassware. He must have looked spaced out enough because somebody slapped him on the ass.

“Wake up, Mr. Artos. You have so many new friends to entertain.”

“Get away from me,” he rasped.

Poe had watched enough holos to know how this went: A blow job was one thing. You could blow a guy as a friendly thing—helping a buddy out. Maybe you both had a few too many joints. But fucking, there was no coming back from that. No red-blooded, macho guy would stand for that kind of thing.

This wasn’t, perhaps, the most _realistic_ aspect of holos, given Poe’s long and extensive experience with pilots. It didn’t get much more macho than x-wing jockeys, and they liked to help a buddy out in any way flexibility allowed. After a few rounds of drinks they weren’t even picky about species, never mind petty shit like what went where. But the point was that it was a classic no fly zone, and Poe had a great respect for the classics.

“I have money,” Poe said. “Whatever you want.”

“Yeah?” Those were human hands spreading Poe’s ass. “You’re going to buy this back from me?”

“Please!”

“You’re telling me you’ve never thought about it?” His finger circled Poe’s entrance.

“No!” It felt kind of good, actually, even if the guy was a creep and Poe was going to either shoot him or get him locked up, but Poe clenched and flinched away like the touch burned.

“Not even once?”

And that was the camera right in Poe’s face again. “I’m normal,” he gasped, forcing his breath faster. “Normal. I’m not— I’ve never—“ Poe opened his eyes very wide and kept them open. He could feel the tears gathering at the corners. “Oh god, oh god, oh god…” he babbled.

“That’s all right,” the leader said silkily. “I’m going to help you out. After all, your first time should be _special_.” He moved away.

Poe felt a sharp pinch on his arm. “What was that?”

“Just something to help you relax.” A hand rubbed circles on his lower back.

Poe didn’t feel relaxed. He felt a rush like ice cubes sliding over his skin and then another rush of heat. “More joy juice?”

“Oh no, Mr. Artos. Something mellower. And longer lasting.”

Whatever it was, his dick _loved_ it. “This isn’t real. You’ll never make me want it,” Poe said. It seemed like the expected thing to do.

The man laughed. “Commence,” he said and clapped his hands.

Somebody yanked Poe’s pants down around his thighs, and, oh boy, that was one of the Gamorreans ready to take his turn. He got his hands on Poe’s hips, and there was nothing Poe could do but try to put up a good fight and tell his dick to shut up about the opportunity for fascinating hands-on xenobiological study opportunities. It was a good thing that study opportunity was so slender and dripping precome like a leaky engine valve. Poe took him easily. He felt weird. Not thick enough. Not the right kind of friction to be really good.

“Please, no,” Poe said. And: “It hurts.” And a lot of swearwords and insults about people’s mothers until they stuck another cock down his throat to shut him up.

—

Poe lay facedown on the table. The last Gamorrean had finally pulled out. The cameras were still going. Thick trails of come oozed from his ass and down his thighs. Not only did they last forever, they could go again.

Poe’s stomach felt bloated, like after a too-large meal. He wondered if it showed from the outside. He wasn’t inclined to move to find out.

“No, he’s just a street kid. He won’t tell anyone,” the leader was whispering. Poe heard him easily: the only other sound in the room was the drip of come on the floor.

Poe opened a bleary eye. Somewhere between three cameras to operate and ‘Mr. Artos’ being uncooperative, they’d all taken their eyes off of Finn. He was nowhere to be seen. That was okay: he’d be back. Poe’s buddy. Sweet, wonderful Finn. With skin like brown velvet and eyes like sparkly stars.

Poe was so fucking high right now.

“No more,” he mumbled as the leader approached again. “I’ll do anything. No more Gamorreans.”

“Mmm, yes, they have rather made a mess of you.” He jabbed his fingers in Poe’s ass, examining him.

Poe was too lubed up with all that alien spunk for it to hurt. He wondered how many pornvids the guy had watched. Maybe a lot. Maybe more than Poe. He certainly talked like it. “I’m normal…” Poe said again, in a quavering voice.

“And what about this?”

The guy got his hand on Poe’s dick, which perked right up. _Down, traitor,_ Poe thought at it. He felt so empty. A sea of spunk might look great on camera, but the Gamorreans just weren’t that satisfying when you came right down to it. Poe wondered how long it would take Finn to get back to the Portmaster’s. God, he hoped he’d gotten that awful thing off of his face. When they got home, Poe was going to apologize, drink himself into a stupor, and try very hard not to think about that when he was jerking off. A battle he’d probably lose, but as long as Finn never found out, things could go back to normal. Mostly.

The leader distracted him from his thoughts. “I have a little treat for you,” he said. “Now that you’re all warmed up.”

Poe heard the click of nails before the thing came into view. He knew what it was. Not from holos—not from _that_ kind of holo. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said in a voice that was all Poe Dameron and not at all Mr. Artos.

The leader didn’t notice. “Isn’t he magnificent?”

“That’s an animal,” Poe said incredulously.

“Indeed he is. The finest Haruun Kal breeding stock. Are you ready to be _bred_ , Mr. Artos?”

“To an Akk dog? That thing’s going to tear my throat out.”

He could see it over his shoulder if he twisted around enough, a huge reptilian monster. Bright orange.

“A special type of Akk, selected for agility and small size,” the leader was saying. Poe felt his fingers on his ass again. “The female Akk produces a highly distinctive compound when she is in season, you see,” the leader said to him. The fingers dipped inside. “My pet has gone some time without procreating. We shall give him a treat.” The fingers withdrew. “Come here, my pretty.”

The thing clacked its way across the floor. It sniffed at Poe’s ass, butted him with its head. The thing was strong: Poe’s thighs slammed against the side of the table. Ow. It nuzzled him again, and then there was something in his ass—its tongue, tasting. Poe must have smelled in season enough. One clawed foot hit the table next to him. The table creaked.

Akks weren’t sentient. They were big, stupid lizard things the size of a landspeeder. Even if this one was closer to the size of a man, it still had no conception of what was happening here. It had no concept of Poe as a person. It was just a dumb beast with a drive to procreate. That was… That was downright _filthy_.

It wasn’t small like the Gamorreans. Poe could feel its huge shaft jabbing at his asscheek. Its owner finally spread him and helped guid the monstrous thing to his opening.

Poe winced. A full-sized Akk would have split him in half. This one just felt like it was going to. It was at least twice the size of any cock or toy he’d had. This was bad. This was very bad. He was going to tear something.

It slid home with a squelch, a wave of Gamorrean come pushed out alongside it. That was the runny part. The bulk of it, that gel, coated his ass with its viscous slime and stayed put.

Poe lay there under it, waiting for the pain. It had probably ruptured his kidney or something. More Gamorrean come slopped down his thighs. The Akk snuffled at his hair.

No ruptured kidneys. He felt… he felt okay, actually. It was too big—uncomfortable and a little terrifying. But it didn’t hurt. It was just overwhelming.

How would Mr. Artos react? Poe had no idea. He should probably faint and let it fuck his unconscious body however it wanted. It was going to do that anyway.

The Akk started to move.

“Oh holy—“

The enormous shaft slid until just the tip remained inside of him. It slammed back in. Slam, slam. He was going to have bruises on his thighs for weeks. The feeling was incredible. He couldn’t call it pleasure: it felt like the thing was going to fuck him to death. Only he just kept feeling like that and the beast just kept going. It never got any worse, just an unchanging, unending terror and _too much, too fast, too full_ that would have had him begging for mercy from any partner sentient enough to hear it.

“That’s right, my beauty,” the boss was saying. “Fill him with your children.”

Poe shuddered.

“You’re going to swell up with young, Artos. Nothing but a brood mare. Month after month. Year after year. Your belly full…”

His belly did feel heavy, sloshing with everything he’d swallowed. Was that what it would be like to be knocked up by this creature for real? His erection was starting to be painful. If one of these sadists didn’t touch him soon…

The Akk pounded away. It should have ripped him up. All that Gamorrean come was good for something after all. Poe had a terrible feeling he was going to be ruined for other men for real. Maybe he could buy Jess a bigger strap-on.

The thing came in a flood. Like the Gamorreans, it took its sweet time pulling out.

“Very good, Mr. Artos.” The leader’s hand gave his cock a quick stroke.

_Yes, finally._

“You have a great deal of promise.” The hand pulled away.

Poe whined.

“But you must be patient. I have a few more playmates for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it made up xeno crap or is it the author spending too much time reading up on pig biology for bestiality kink purposes? Why, it's both!


	3. Chapter 3

The blue thing undulated over to him. Of course it was the blue thing.

“I have a policy of only fucking familiar species,” Poe said. “Call me old-fashioned.” The room seemed far away. He was floating away on a cloud of… something. A euphoric, maybe? Poe stayed away from the exotic stuff these days: flying was enough of a rush. He cast his mind back to his youth. Thyssel? He hoped it hadn’t come from the same place as the Akk dog—Poe had fried enough brain cells on purpose. He liked the ones he had left. But, no, he still felt like himself, just really stoned and utterly desperate.

The blue thing planted itself along his back. It was heavier than it looked. Poe tried to buck it off. He managed to flip over, kicking at it.

The flippers elongated again into slender arm things with paddles on the ends. It slapped a half dozen on his arms, pinning him to the table on his back. More arms pulled on his hips, repositioning him.

They explored his body, slick plastoid-like membrane on his own overheated skin. The blue thing bent forward like it was examining him. Two of its tentacles fastened on his nipples. The pinch-suck-pinch nearly made him come right then. Nearly. _This had better be setting up a_ spectacular _money shot_ , Poe thought. That just wasn’t nice, leaving him hanging. His cock was dark red and leaking pre-come onto his stomach.

Slender tendrils probed his ass. He was too wet and open for it to do any good. They wriggled around in there like worms. Poe craned his neck to see. Three or four of them, it looked like. As he watched, they began to plump up, first one, then another expanding in girth, stiffening, hardening back to the dark blue of the thing’s trunk.

“Now wait a second—“

A paddle smacked his face, forcing him back down. The things in his ass were still growing. He felt one jerk and withdraw; two more immediately replaced it. Poe tried to bite the one on his face, but it slithered down to his neck where he couldn’t get a grip on it.

And then it tightened.

Poe thrashed. Getting fucked was one thing. He wouldn’t last long without air. And he needed to last till Finn came back for him. Oh fuck, Finn. He had to apologize, and he couldn’t do that if he made a snuff film with Big Blue here.

Tentacles slithered over his chest. Each time one finished with his ass, it moved to caress his legs, hitch him higher and open him up for more of them. How many sex organs did Big Blue _have?_

There wasn’t enough air to beg. Poe felt his face growing hot. His vision was graying. Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes.

It wrapped a tentacle around his cock.

Poe screamed silently. His back arched like a bowstring. He came so hard he blacked out.

—

It had only been a couple of seconds. His face was covered in blue goop and what tasted like his own come. Alien fluids still dripped steadily from his ass, hitting the floor with a wet, rhythmic plop. Big Blue had retreated to the corner. He could just see it if he lifted his head.

“Ah, good,” the leader said, bending over him.

Poe was too exhausted to react.

“I wouldn’t want you sleeping through our grand finale, Mr. Artos. Come, see.”

Poe sat up gingerly. He was sore everywhere, and his stomach felt bloated. It looked a little bloated too. He wondered if he should make himself throw up or just wait for all that come to digest.

The leader placed a box on the table next to him, then stepped back. “Open it.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t seem like a great idea.”

“Open it.” He slipped a blaster from his tunic.

Poe slid the top off. The box was no larger than the span of his hands. The inside was dark. It looked empty. No, not empty. It was filled with some kind of gel. More alien spunk? Lube? The last thing Poe needed was lube. There was so much slime clinging to him he could have taken on every storm trooper in the First Order without blinking. Storm troopers… He shut that thought down.

“What’s this supposed to be?” Poe asked.

“Another of my pets. A hungry one. We let her clean up when we’re finished.”

Poe’s stomach lurched. He’d been hysterical from lack of oxygen. He hadn’t been serious. They weren’t actually making snuff porn here. That was crazy. Who did that? Bad for business. Too high profile. The Gamorreans all had blasters. He wasn’t going to get far if he made a break for it.

The box lurched too, and something flowed out.

It was translucent, with a faint, dark violet tinge. Somehow, Poe knew he couldn’t let it touch his skin. He scrambled up.

It was growing. Faster than he could move. Poe’s legs buckled as soon as he tried to stand.

The thing caught him. It flowed up his legs and over his chest, surrounding him completely. A Gamorrean trained a camera on Poe’s face.

The blob thing was going to digest him, Poe realized, and the cameras were going to watch. It flowed up over his shoulders, his neck, his mouth, his face.

Finn was going to return with the authorities and find what was left of him. He’d watch. Poe knew he’d watch.

Poe was floating in mid-air now. The blob had grown taller than he was and at least as broad. They brought the cameras in close on all sides.

Finn would think he owed Poe that or some bullshit. That it was his duty to find out what had happened. _Oh god, buddy, don’t come back._

He tried to scream. The thing flowed down his throat. This was the end: suffocated in the belly of a slime monster, wide awake, with his eyes open. Conscious of everything it did to him.

More slime forced itself into Poe’s throat, trying to digest him from inside and out. He looked down. His belly protruded, unnaturally swollen. Nothing hurt anymore. Small mercies.

The cameras continued to watch. Poe sucked in a breath. He’d always thought he’d go fast. A fireball in space. He was crying in earnest now. What did it matter if they saw his great, heaving sobs. He wouldn’t be around to be embarrassed about it later. More slime forced its way inside bloating his stomach. Poe had to breath through his nose.

_What?_

Poe blinked. He was breathing. Somehow, air was coming through the thing. Nothing hurt.

He looked down again. He looked pregnant. It was bizarre. But it wasn’t killing him. It was more like it was sucking on him everywhere. As Poe watched, the blue slime evaporated from his skin. The thing was—it was literally cleaning him up.

_Huh._

Somewhere in the galaxy, there was a species that ate spunk, and Poe had never heard of it.

The slime blob pulsed in his ass, spreading him open for the cameras. That had to be an amazing view. Poe was distracted from trying to look by an insistent pressure around his dick. The blob was trying to get inside. A think trickle of it slid down his urethra, like a weirdly animate sound.

“Okay, now that’s just weird.”

It was trying to feed, he realized, rubbing him inside and out, a repeated throb in his ass that had him hard and leaking again in seconds. He could see the trail of precum spooling out from his dick, absorbing into the blob before his eyes.

Poe drifted happily in his gel prison. He could stay like this forever, high out of his mind on joy juice and whatever the fuck they’d shot him up with, staring idly as people ran by outside. The lights were pretty.

 _Oh._ That was Finn. And blaster fire.

Finn was screaming his name, Poe realized, as a blaster bolt exploded directly in front of his face. The blob creature sparkled, the blast dissipating harmlessly.

“Poe, Poe!”

And that was air and sound. That was nice. The blob thing flowed back towards its box.

The room was full of heavily armed security with the Portmaster’s insignia on their uniforms. “I’m getting you out of here,” Finn said.

“My hero.” Poe tried to pat Finn’s face, but all of the drugs were really kicking in now. His hand flopped uselessly on Finn’s shoulder instead.

“Oh god.”

“You okay, buddy?”

“ _I’m_ fine. That was nothing. You’re the one who—“ Finn choked on the sentence.

“Sorry about the stuff I said. Was trying to keep ‘em off of you.”

Finn’s big brown eyes welled with tears. “I’m so sorry. It took me so long to come back for you.”

“It’s okay,” Poe slurred. “You did great.” There was daylight ahead. They were almost out. “We good?”

“We’re great.” Finn hugged him—as much as the awkward side squeeze could be a hug when he was half-dragging Poe.

“That’s good.” Poe let his head drop onto Finn’s shoulder. “‘Cause I think I’m going to take a nap now.”

—

The med droids held him for a couple of hours. Their clinical probes were more humiliating than all that heavy breathing in his ear. Finn went off somewhere. That was good. Finn didn’t want his apologies, and Poe didn’t feel up to explaining, yet again, that _he_ was fine, and no, nothing was Finn’s fault.

“Poe Dameron,” the droid hummed at him. “Tests show that the aphrodisiacs have cleared your system. Stimulants and depressants are at recreational but non-hazardous levels. Remaining sexual responses are psychological.”

Translation: he was high as balls and had the same raging hard-on he always got when a droid stuck something up his ass. Poe had figured that one out himself _last_ time he’d gotten a boner in medbay and had to hack the system to get it out of his file. His body was responding right on schedule. “Didn’t you have enough fun earlier?” he mumbled, looking down. His dick didn’t listen to him. What else was new?

The med droid hummed. “A counseling session is recommended after traumatic experience, Poe Dameron.”

“Let me out of here.”

“And I thought you _enjoyed_ med evals,” a voice said from the doorway.

“Jessika. Oh thank god.”

“I hear you need a shoulder to cry on?”

“Something like that.”

“Poe Dameron requires supervision until all foreign substances have cleared his system,” droned the med droid. “A counseling session is recommended.”

Jessika looked at the bulge in his pants.

“Get me a bottle of the good stuff and I’ll tell you all about it,” Poe said.

“Consumption of alcohol is not recommended. Supervision is req—“

“Isn’t it always?” Jessika said. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Thanks,” he said as they staggered out into the hallway. He felt wrung out in that limp, _sex so good it broke my brain_ way. His dick hadn’t gotten the message though.

“Do you want to talk?” Jessika asked. A frown line bisected her perfect little eyebrows.

“It was terrible,” Poe said. “Traumatic. You should comfort me.”

The frown line smoothed out. “Me and how many of the guys?” Jessika asked dryly.

“Why, Pava, it’s like you know me.” They wobbled down the corridor. “Anybody else off shift right now?”

“I’m sure something can be arranged.”

“You’re the best.” Poe stumbled against her. “The guys are the best. Everything’s the best. It’s like I’m living in a holovid.” He hummed the theme to a popular one.

Jessika snorted. “The only kind of holo you live in, Dameron, is one you can’t mention in polite company.”

He laughed all the way back to his quarters. High as _balls_. It was _awesome._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think or what should happen in the sequel.


End file.
